


Unmade

by MedievalContessa



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 17:30:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19750426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MedievalContessa/pseuds/MedievalContessa
Summary: After waking up in the helicarrier's med bay after Natasha's "cognitive recalibration" kicks Loki out of his head, Clint finds himself needing the kind of healing only Natasha can provide.





	Unmade

**Author's Note:**

> Pure, unadulterated smut. One-shot.
> 
> While this ain't my first rodeo, it is my first AO3 posting, and my first Marvel fic (and I'm not even finished watching all the movies yet). I wrote this in a flurry of maybe an hour after watching "Avengers" for the first time last week. Really hope y'all enjoy!

"Natasha..."

It's barely a whisper, but it cuts her to her scarred soul, as it always does. She chances a glance at him, and she knows she's lost. As she's always lost when he looks at her like that.

The slightest movement towards him and he's gathering her into his arms, trying to somehow will away the guilt and the shame that's currently tearing him apart from the inside. Trying to lose himself in the only haven he's ever known.

She stands, pulling him with her as she backs towards the entrance, blindly engaging the lock on the door and the shade on the window. With their privacy ensured, he shoves her into the wall, pulling one of her legs up to hitch around his hip as he grinds against her, unable to get close enough. "Tasha..." he groans, dragging his lips across her cheek, along her jawline, to the crook of her neck, nipping as he goes, before retracing the same path.

"I'm here, Clint," she soothes.

He hesitates, leaning his forehead against hers. His eyes flutter open. "Make it go away... please." His voice is barely audible as it breaks on the last word.

She holds his desperate gaze, unwilling to hold back any part of herself from this man that changed her world in all the ways that mattered. "Take what you need." She would never deny him anything.

Before she can blink, he's pulling her suit open, dropping her tactical belt at their feet as she struggles to pull her arms from the sleeves. Once free, she unzips his vest, shoving it off his body as she steps out of her suit, leaving her clad in her utilitarian lingerie. He manages to stay pressed against her, tugging her bra cups down and filling his calloused hands with her breasts, kissing her deeply all the while.

She gasps as he tweaks her nipples, his archer's fingertips expertly rolling them and shooting fire straight to her core. Holding tightly to his shoulders, she throws both legs around his waist, one of his hands dropping to her ass to support her. His other hand wastes no time in dipping into her panties, running his rough fingers through her wet folds before settling the pad of his thumb against her sensitive nub. "Cliiiiiiint....." she keens, throwing her head back against the wall as he begins a steady rhythm.

He thrusts against her, his already aching erection grinding against her core as he continues coaxing throaty moans from her lips. "Nat... god... so wet... always so wet for me..." His voice is husky, laced with barely contained desire.

"Only for you!" she gasps, one arm leaving his shoulders to tug at his belt, fumbling with the clasp before finally pulling it loose. She nearly rips open the button, not even bothering with the zipper as her hand dives into his pants, palming him through his boxer briefs.

He groans as he buries his face in her neck. "Need you... need you... please..." She answers by shoving down his pants and underwear just enough to free him from the confines of the material. He pulls his fingers from her panties and nudges the fabric aside, taking himself in hand as he positions himself at her entrance. He pauses long enough to lock eyes with her, silently asking for her reassurance. She nods vigorously, just as eager for their joining as he. In one movement, he buries himself to the hilt, taking her lips with his as he does. He counts to three in his head -- long enough to leash his over-eager body and allow her to acclimate to him -- before pulling back and plunging back in, setting a punishing pace that quickly has them both rising towards completion.

"Clint... Clint... Clint..." His name is a litany on her lips as she digs her nails into his back.

"Fuuuuuuuck, Tasha!" He feels so far gone already, but even through his desperate need to cleanse his mind and his soul, he can't leave her behind; he returns his thumb to her clit, rubbing circles around the tiny bud. He chuckles smugly when she lets out a long moan of pleasure. "Like that, do you? My fingers on your clit, my cock in your soaked pussy?"

"Fuck, Clint, I'm almost there!"

He can tell; already he can feel the first flutterings of her walls around him. "That's it, Tash, cum for me," he orders, never letting up his pace as he thrusts into her body again, again, again. "Give it to me. Right now." He leans in and sinks his teeth into the soft skin over her shoulder blade and she's gone, crying out his name as her walls contract around him and she explodes. He makes it two more thrusts before he follows her, emptying himself into her with a gutteral groan.

They don't move as the last of their tremors shudder through their bodies. He pulls back first, retreating from inside of her with reluctance and tucking himself back into his pants. He silently stoops and hands over her discarded suit and tac belt, nodding towards the open bathroom door to let her dress. She gives a mute acknowledgment, turning to go, before he spins her back around and kisses her once more, his lips nearly bruising in their intensity. When he slowly pulls away, they stare for a moment, all the things unsaid blazing in their eyes. He turns from her before the words try to tumble from his lips; she turns before her emotions rise too high to ignore. Because he knows "love is for children", or so she says; because she knows love acknowledged means pain and heartbreak, or so the Red Room taught her.

But neither can stop their need for the other. And neither wants to.


End file.
